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Friday, May 30, 2008

Fellow siblings and friends; on Sunday June 1st the earth will literally shudder as the Gorbals High Rises adjacent to my own splinter to their conclusion. As a resident of the twenty-second floor for a good many years standing, looking down from my fractured gothic eyrie, I feel like a veritable Mr. Kite.

This Sunday morning while most of you are still wrapped up in your duvets celebrating the ghost of yet another Saturday night, I shall be looking forward instead to the closing of an era and the tilting of concrete all this implies. Not so much Sergeant Pepper as the Exploding Plastic Inevitable and the spastic twitching of pigeon spattered sheets. Wish us all bon voyage, because as sure as Shinola smears shit on a bedroom window the next one to go will be mine.

We are all just waiting to tumble like dominos and the bad news is Syd's already dead.

My sister sent me a text message today warning "TODAY IS INTERNATIONAL DISADVANTAGED PEOPLE'S DAY". What can it mean ? She mistrusts my epic humour, certainly, and is forever trying to catch me on the wrong foot. It's like a game of darts where the points have all worn blunt.

I nod my head and grin.

The good news - depending on your vantage point, dear reader - is this. I am drowning but not yet prone beneath the surf. Some kind Presbyterian souls passing by grabbed hold of my wrists and gently pulled me ashore. I say Presbyterian, but more accurately I should suggest Catholic, for that's undoubtably where my taste resides ; catholic is my sensibilty, and catholic is the agate, celtic rock i shall perish on. Or perhaps not. It all depends, I suppose, on which way the wind blows.